


Dean's Stupid Face

by imagining_supernatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Like, quiet dean, so much freaking fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 16:25:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagining_supernatural/pseuds/imagining_supernatural
Summary: Dean physically cannot speak, so he uses his face to communicate
Relationships: Dean Winchester & You, Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean Winchester/You, Sam Winchester & You, sam winchester & reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	Dean's Stupid Face

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request and do you know how hard it is to write Dean without dialogue? That kid is full of witty, stupid little one-liners and sarcastic comments. He doesn’t stay quiet!

You pushed Dean back onto the couch and stood over him with your hands on your hips. “You are _not_ coming on this hunt.”

“Aww, c’mon Y/N,” Dean rasped through his sore throat. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sick. If you come along then you’ll just get worse.”

“Actually,” Sam said as he walked in. “I think we’ll need Dean on this one. It looks like a pretty big coven of witches.” He looked up at you. “We can’t handle it alone.”

“Ha!” Dean coughed, ruining his victorious moment.

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. But as soon as this hunt is over, you’re on bedrest and Sam’ll be your servant.”

“I’d rather you be my servant, sweetheart,” Dean tried flirting. He even winked, but the effect was ruined when he started coughing again. When the cough finally subsided and he looked up to see your concerned expression, he scoffed. “Just a tickle. Nothing too bad.”

“Whatever, Dean. When you get so sick you feel like you’re dying I’ll have a steaming bowl of _I told you so_ ready to serve up.”

* * *

“Over here, bitch!” You yelled, taking aim and pulling the trigger just as the witch turned toward you. Your bullet hit right in the middle of her forehead and she crumpled to the ground unceremoniously.

In the other room, another witch started chanting. As you raced into the room, your mind registered her words and realized the spell wouldn’t hurt any of you as long as she died before she finished. Just as you skidded into the kitchen, Sam shot the witch, but the last witch left alive took over from where she left off. The chanting witch tackled Dean and they wrestled around on the floor, knocking into bookcases and making a mess as knick-knacks fell to the ground and shattered. Dean’s gun flew away from him and you took aim at the mass of limbs on the ground, but couldn’t get a good shot. You weren’t about to risk Dean like that.

The spell started winding down and you needed to kill her, or else she would be impervious to bullets and knives. There wasn’t enough time to think of a spell to counteract hers, so you had to think of another solution quickly.

“Sam, get ready,” you muttered to the taller brother. He nodded, holding his gun more firmly.

You bounced on the balls of your feet, looking for your opening. Dean growled as the witch’s fingernails dragged down his arm and he started to retaliate, but he saw you waiting and let her roll him onto his back. Thinking that she had the upper hand, the witch straddled Dean and reached for her hidden knife, but you kicked her and she rolled across the floor. Sam fired his gun and a moment later she was dead.

After the noises of the battle, the silence was deafening. It took a minute before anyone spoke.

“We got them all?” Sam asked, glancing around.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “There were only seven here. There’re only seven bowls on that shelf and everything else I’ve seen points to seven.”

A croaking sound came from Dean. Both you and Sam faced him. He tried talking again, but nothing came out and he grabbed his throat, looking up at you with a terrified expression. Then he glared at the dead witches and you knew exactly what he was thinking: they’d but a spell on him. You knew they hadn’t, but you wanted him to squirm a little longer. “Aw, Dean. Cat got your tongue?”

He made more pained noises before giving up on that medium of communication and just jerked his finger from his throat to the witch. You bit back a grin at his wide eyes and disgusted twist of mouth.

“I didn’t really think she was your type, Dean. But hey, if she was so gorgeous that you’re speechless in your presence, then that’s none of my business. Love isn’t always conveniently timed. I mean, she _is_ dead. That shouldn’t stop a Winchester, though. I’m sure you could visit her in Hell on the weekends or something.”

“Y/N,” Sam said, stepping forward. You sighed at the authoritarian tone in his voice and gave in. Since your mother was a witch, a nice, good one, you were the resident genius on all things witchy.

“It’s not a spell for us. They were chanting a protective spell for themselves. I’m afraid Dean has a little something called laryngitis.” You smirked down at Dean who was just sitting up. “Should’ve stayed home, Deany-boy.”

His face twisted and he tried speaking again, though all that came out was a breathy mess.

You swooped down and put your finger over his mouth, full out gloating now. “Don’t talk, Dean. You have to rest your voice or you’ll never get better.”

“For how long?” Sam asked for his brother.

You honestly had no clue, but since they were giving you the power, you would definitely exploit the opportunity. “A few weeks, at least. Think you can do that, Dean?”

He scowled and jerked his head away so your finger fell down to his chest. When he looked back at you and saw your wide smile, he rolled his eyes and forced a smile to show that he would be a perfect angel. Or… a perfect patient, since angels were dicks.

“Great.” You stood and held your hand out to help him up. He eyed it like this was a trick, but finally took it and let you pull him up. You were toe to toe and inches from each other’s faces. Dean’s eyes sparked, but you just smirked and looked over at Sam. “We’re gonna have a quiet couple of weeks without Dean gabbing on about something or other.”

Dean made a scoffing noise and you looked back at him. He looked affronted and had a hand over his chest like an offended southern belle. Then he pointed to you and tilted his head like _Oh please. You talk more than I do._

You gasped, trying to act offended. “Me? I’m quiet as a mouse. You’re the one who yells when you can’t figure something out instead of texting us like normal people.”

Sirens sounded in the distance and you looked away from Dean, remembering the carnage you were standing in the midst of. He jerked his head toward the back door and you nodded. “Yeah. We should probably go.”

The three of you dashed out of the house, gathering your weapons as you went. Out of breath, you reached the impala. Dean started for the driver’s side, but you grabbed the back of his jacket, pulling him to a halt. The corner of his mouth turned down as an eyebrow raised.

“You aren’t driving. You need to take it easy starting now.”

His eye roll used his whole head, more comical than serious.

“Hand over the keys, Winchester.”

Dean switched tactics, dropping his head and looking up at you with wide eyes. His bottom lip pouted out and he pled with you like a puppy dog.

You weren’t about to be swayed. “Nope. You’re not quite as good as Sam yet. Hand ‘em over.”

Sam watched with a grin as you and Dean silently challenged each other until he finally gave in and dumped the keys into your hand. He pointed his finger at you warningly.

“Don’t worry, Dean. I’ll take good care of her.”

* * *

“Hey, Dean,” you called over to where he was sitting at the motel table. “Do you remember the wifi password for this place?”

He glared at you, eyebrows raising in disdain. You just laughed and went back to your email. For the last hour since Sam left on his run you’d been thinking of things to ask Dean, just to remind him that he couldn’t talk.

“Hey, Dean. Remember that guy from the last hunt? The one who was practically in love with you? What was his name again?”

Dean slammed the gun he’d been cleaning onto the table and you looked over to see him stand and stalk over to your bed. You held your hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, man, sorry if I touched a nerve. I didn’t know he made such a big impression on you too.”

Plopping down onto the bed in front of you, Dean’s eyes speared yours. He crossed his arms and pursed his lips, watching you like a father would look at a disobedient child.

Your eyebrows lifted and you leaned forward slightly. “What is it? You have something to say?”

His mouth turned down, twisting into a grumpy pout.

“You know, guys who can’t speak in the presence of a woman don’t really ever get the girl. You should work on that if you wanna get some.”

Eyebrows raising, Dean straightened and lifted his chin. After a second, a familiar grin covered his lips and his head tilted forward. This change in demeanor made you slam on the pause button so that you could figure out what was happening. You’d seen his seductive, flirtatious look before, but never directed at you.

Dean reached forward, but you couldn’t react. You were frozen, still processing everything. He just smirked and grabbed your laptop, sliding it toward him. After he clicked on a few things, you finally got your presence of mind back. “What are you doing?”

He held up a finger in the universal signal for _just one more second_. Then he raised his eyes to yours and your heart stuttered at the dark gleam in his green eyes. With a flick of his wrist, he turned your laptop toward you. It took you a moment to tear your gaze away and look down at the screen.

_ If you don’t shut up, I’ll have to make you_.

Oh. Well, two could play at that game.

“Make me what? Pancakes? You know I like waffles better. Besides, you’re sick. It should be Sam making you soup, not you making me waffles.”

With each word that came out of your mouth, Dean’s eyes dilated just a little more. He shut your laptop and leaned forward. A corner of his mouth turned up and you wondered what the hell you were doing. You worked with the man, for god’s sake! Anything that would make your relationship weird should be avoided at all costs.

But you let him get closer and closer until his lips were nearly brushing yours.

“You know,” you breathed. “You could teach a class on how to get the girl without ever saying a word.”

He closed the last few centimeters and pressed his lips against yours without hesitation. Just as the kiss was beginning, Dean jerked back, coughing. The timing was absolutely perfect and you couldn’t hold back your laughter if you wanted.

“So close, Dean. One more week and you just might be able to get your game back.”

His coughing fit subsided and he just glared up at you like a wounded puppy.

“Nice try, but I don’t shut up that easily. Now go finished cleaning that gun so I can actually write my parents before they call, panicked that I died.”

Pouting, Dean slunk back to the table. You worked in silence for the next few minutes, glancing over at him every now and then with a grin on your face.


End file.
